Hans Meijer - The slave girl

Amrah and her companion whipped from each side. The whips might not be lethal, but the girl who received their stripes was hard pressed not to scream. Corey saw the sweat droplets form on the young forehead and beneath armpits to trickle down the helpless arms which bore no bond but were captive to their owner?s need to sustain her weight. From time to time one of theother reached back, but they could not find the bruised flesh they sought. Defeated, they returned to their tiring task.

The fleshly impacts were almost without pause. The bare bottom tried hard to weave, to sway, to find any surcease at all. But it was captive to the thrust of boards. It flinched, it quivered as the scarlet grid was latticed on its skin. But that was all. It was perfectly postured for its possessor?s punishment. Fatalla?s moans mounted and progressed to small cries of dark distress. When she screamed, Corey Gibson climaxed into orgasm. Shocked and ashamed, she was thankful no one was looking. All eyes were on the tableau upon the bench.

Corey had lost count of the strokes bedding themselves into the pathetically helpless posterior. It seemed their number did not matter. The whippers and the whipped tallied the punishment by other means. It ended suddenly to leave the room in a hushed silence, broken only by Fatalla?s sobs. The whipped girl had screamed several times. But had borne her punishment with stoic fortitude. Corey felt blushingly certain she would disgrace herself when her own time came. She suspected she was being left to last. Sometimes she tugged at the cuff upon her wrist. It seemed impossible so trifling a bond could hold her captive to await such pain. But hold her it did. She could believe in truth that, from this place, no girl could ever escape.

Punishment day followed its course. Amrah and her colleague dealt briskly with delinquent bottoms., breasts, backs, pudendum and soft thighs. No two punishments were alike. No two responses from punished flesh were similar. Corey Gibson twisted against her handcuff and cringingly and apprehensively awaited her own turn. When the last punished maiden had dressed and gone, she found herself confronted by two pairs of laughing dark eyes.

"Soon we whip your pussy."

"And her boobs and bottom."

They laughed delightedly. Then provided another surprise. "I have been very bad." Amrah informed coyly. "Talifa now punish me." Grinning impishly, she arranged her nakedness upon the bench.

Arms down each side, wrists strapped, tummy cinched tight! Amrah was enjoying Corey?s incredulity. "When girl is bad she must be punished. Is no use to make fuss."

Talifa roped passive ankles, raised them and pulled them back over the tight tummy, over the taut breasts, back and back to tie them down to each corner beside their owner?s head so that Amrah was looking up at her own pubic hair. Her bottom reared invitingly and thrust into view the dark lips of a plump pudendum from between soft thighs now equally accessible. "Now I be caned with nice thin cane." She explained proudly. "It hurt much on bottom, sometimes it hit poor cunt."

Amrah did not scream. But she suffered. Corey could not doubt the anguish, it was written plainly upon the dusky features from which it slowly erased the smile. There were moans and gasps and sad strangled sounds as the whippy cane bit shrewdly where it hurt the most. Sometimes it was set aside to allow Talifa to smile the archly pouting lips of her colleague?s errant cunt.

The short thongs beat down wetly into the female cleft so that the strapped and tied mahogany beauty tested the quality of her bonds with frantic thrusts and surgings which left all of her exactly as it was. Amrah was being most competently punished.

When she was loosed from the bench Amrah sobbed in overtaxed emotion. The two dark girls clutched each other in a spasmodic embrace, seeking and giving forgiveness. The bare arms clung until the sobbing slowly died. Then, as though by preconceived decision, the two of them advanced upon the naked white girl chained to the ring in the wall.

Corey felt like a child, a kitten, like any helpless creature handled and directed by superior strength. Muting useless protest, she obeyed the directive of a hand in her hair. She sank to her knees, her right arm reaching up, held by its handcuff, ensuring docility, inhibiting nothing. When Amrah straddled her helplessness to thrust her pungent sex against expectant lips it was no more than the white captive had expected from the start.

Guilt! A wicked excitation! Outrageous tumesence! The fervidly demanding perfume of girl! For Corey it was one more of the revelations of her sex. Amrah was luscious, heart?s ease. Her soft wet thighs and hairy lips swollen by the whip regaled the white captive?s mouth and tongue and nostrils with a nectar wholly feminine. Needful of penetration, the kneeling girl used her one free hand to reach and clasp a beaten buttock and draw closer the scorching slit within which her tongue was searching avidly. Beneath her fingers were the hot red weals left by the cane on Amrah?s female flesh. All else was forgotten.

Corey was not punished. It was as though someone conspired to her confusion. When the laughing dark skinned girls had kissed her lovingly and departed she stood alone against the wall and played idly with the handcuff that held her there. She wondered what it was going to be like to be a whore.

Achmed came in late afternoon. His smirk was wise.

"You much enjoy. Girls tell me you good with tongue."

She was shamed that he knew. But said no word as her cuff was unlocked from its ring and she was led by one wrist from the room. The blindfold lay crumpled on the floor behind them. She hoped it forgotten.

The place was huge, a complex of buildings. Some of stern utility, some of ancient luxury. She saw little as she was hurried back to her cell. But she did discover it one of a dozen in a single line. All similar to her own. The first was empty, but what she beheld in the second stopped her in her tracks, her eyes widening in shock. But her cuffed wrist was ruthlessly yanked, in pain she stumbled on beside her jailor. Achmed was in a hurry. He relieved her of the handcuff, locked the chain and padlock back on her collar, then fucked her with a savage intensity which matched her own erotic arousal of the day. Refusing to answer questions, he left and locked the door, leaving the naked ravished girl still panting on the floor, one hand toying with the chain from her collar, her mind busy with a vision.

As Achmed had dragged her past the second cell she had focused on a scene still vivid in her mind. It was of a naked girl tied against the bars as she had once been. A girl who gazed out wistfully at a freedom denied. A girl whose neck bore a collar and chain as did her own.

The girl was Audrey Cotswold.

Abdul Nour did himself well. Between his military forays and the receipt of Russian largesse he lived in a small degree of splendor. Any political loyalties he might cherish came second to material benefit. His very private office was a case in point. It was lush! To Miss Corey Gibson it was nostalgically reminiscent of the Planet Corporation?s luxury back home.

Corey was alone. The office was waiting, but not for her. She was in it but most certainly not of it. She was a discordant note, an anomaly. She supposed someone had a sense of humour. As usual, she hurt.

Miss Corey Gibson was naked. She was suspended by her bound wrists, a taut strained arm rigid beside each cheek. To emphasis her nude femaleness her crotch had been opened wide and thrust into blatancy by the expedient of roping her ankles far off to each side and slightly in advance so that her lower half was a foot closer to the desk than her top. She could quiver in rippling spasms of effort but could not change position. It was as though her cunt and pubic hair awaited an interview with someone behind the desk while the rest of her watched.